


Ode on Aragorn's Dimple, An

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fellowship of the Ring, Humor, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2003-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy breaks out amongst the Fellowship on the eve of their ride to the Black Gates. AU. Very.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Evening, Outside the Tent of Aragorn

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

_To the demented denizens of Verse-and-Adversity: you know who you are. And, yes, it is your fault._

**Part I – The Scene**

Encamped upon the Pelennor,  
the armies of the West prepare  
a desperate force against the door  
of Mordor dread to dare.  
At dawn they leave on this last journey dire.  
‘Tis evening; many sit beside a flickering fire.

Outside the tent of Aragorn,  
Elessar and promised king,  
he sits and broods on hope forlorn  
and all the evils of the Ring.  
His heart lifts as he sees, approaching, friends:  
the dwarf and elf have surely come his mood to mend.

 

**Part II - Legolas’ Complaint**

“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!  
Confusion on thy banners wait;  
I really cannot stand that thing!”  
So Legolas the fair did state.  
“Your problem, elf?” Lord Aragorn replied.  
“The battle’s starting soon; I need you by my side.”

“Forget it,” said the elf, “I’m mad  
and take it more I will not do.  
Allegiance once that I was glad  
to give, no more. I’ll leave this crew!”  
“My patience thin doth wear,” quothe brave Estel,  
“Just state your beef. I’m sure that any doubts I’ll quell.”

“Well, it’s that dimple, Aragorn.  
That cleft upon your manly chin?  
Your manly height I could have born,  
And felt no jealousy within.  
But that depression on your manly face,  
Unfairly casts into the shade the elven race.”

 

**Part III - Gimli Explains**

“What’s up with him?!” the Dunedan  
appealed to Gimli, standing near.  
“We march to Mordor. Every man  
(or elf or dwarf) has duty clear.  
My dimple, or his lack of one, seems moot.  
The battle looms, no time to train a new recruit.”

When thus appealed to, Gimli spoke  
and said, “It is a little thing,  
‘tis true, but jealousy awoke  
in Legolas’ heart, my King,  
when tidings came that you more fan-girls had  
than he, despite those fetching elven-braids, poor lad.”

“Fan-girls?!” did Aragorn exclaim,  
a furrow deep upon his brow.  
“What can you mean? You must explain,  
and meaning with this phrase endow.”  
The son of Glóin hastened to enlighten.  
“They’re ladies fair whose days our exploits often brighten.”

“They live in far-off lands, and pore  
o’er all our doings and our faces.  
Each contemplates on all our lore  
and fondly in imagination traces  
each feature of their hero ‘mongst the nine.”  
“E’en Boromir? He’s dead, I curse those Uruk swine.”

“To ladies matters not, it seems.  
But be that as it may, that dimple…  
Lo! I have hit upon a means  
to pacify the elf. It’s simple.  
Just grow that scraggly stubble on your face  
into a proper beard like mine; his ire erase!"

 

**Part IV – Merry and Pippin’s Two Cents**

Just then upon the scene there came  
The halfling Pip. “So what’s the buzz?”  
he asked. And, eager to explain,  
Lord Aragorn replied, “It does  
appear the cleft upon my chin hath raised  
unseemly envy in the heart of elf, now crazed.”

“Ah,” said Pip, “the dimple. Funny  
you should mention that, my lord.  
Merry, whose temper’s often sunny,  
is cooped up in the House and bored.  
When we were playing Cup today we spoke  
about that very thing. His hobbit heart it broke.”

“Of course his spirits were laid low  
a bit. He’s under Ioreth’s care  
(that Nazgûl thing, you know).  
Her endless talk does often flow  
upon the fabled beauties of your chin,  
which she has heard about from Lady Éowyn.”

“So he is brooding on the shame  
of having fewer fans than you.  
And come to think of it, the same  
applies to me. Sedition brew  
in all our hearts against injustice dire  
when ladies flock to you and to your bed aspire.”

“But Pippin,” gamely Gimli tried  
to calm his anger. “Lo, a dimple  
on your chin I just espied!”  
“You fool,” hissed Legolas, “a pimple  
isn’t quite the same.” Thus Pippin turned  
and left in quite a huff, his hobbit wrath it burned.

 

**Part V – Letters Arrive**

Anon, a messenger arrives,  
his horse’s neck with lather pearled.  
“Respects, my Lord. We’ve risked our lives  
to bring this mail. And so he hurled  
it to Estel, who caught the pouch and said,  
“The mail! I fear it may contain more tidings dread.”

But no! Within the bag there lay  
two folded notes on parchment pages;  
the first, from Arwen, far away!  
He hadn’t heard from her in ages.  
A blush descending, put it next his heart,  
until he could pore over it in place apart.

The other letter then he took  
and, op’ning it, he did exclaim,  
“It is from Sam and Frodo! Look!  
I’ve wondered what of them became,  
how fared they since they left in elven boat,  
but now we know at least they lived when this they wrote.”

“This cheers my heart, before cast down;  
of them we may be justly proud.  
But soon his smile changed to a frown.  
“Dear Aragorn,” he read aloud,  
“We’ve had a lot of time to think out here  
while on the way to Mordor, and it’s finally clear.”

“Emyn Muil was not a lot  
of fun and neither was that marsh.  
A least you have a [expletive deleted] cot  
to sleep on, not to be too harsh.  
And dragging Smeagol/Gollum all this way  
(Sam here now!) has been no picnic, let me say.”

“Frodo here…Without a doubt,  
we think we got the stick’s short end.  
Estel, you get to swan about  
in Gondor; while it’s us you send  
to do the sticky bit. We’ve seen the scam;  
is this quite fair? Love, Frodo, (Gollum – his mark), and Sam.”

“P.S. Just to say, before we croak,  
about that dimple on your chin.  
That really was the straw that broke  
the camel’s back, ‘cause men  
have an edge in height (no need to gloat!).  
While tall is one thing, it’s the dimple gets our goat.”

“For fan-girls how can we compete?  
You’re bigger, sure, then there’s that thing  
you do with swords, (then there’s our feet,  
a minus); add to that, you’re king.  
All this we grant, but still we had our hopes.  
But throw the dimple in, for sure we’re on the ropes.”

He crushed the letter in his hand,  
His shoulders slumped, his head was bowed.  
“I simply do not understand;  
of this, my dimple, I’m not proud.  
I beg you all to sleep on it tonight.  
I’m sure you’ll see your duty in the morning’s light.”

“Fat chance,” quothe they with one accord,  
and grumbling still they turned away.  
“We owe no fealty to a lord  
who over all the fan-girls holds his sway.”  
So saying, they depart away, and Aragorn  
into his tent repairs, to sleep and wait the morn.


	2. Night, Inside the Tent of Aragorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy breaks out amongst the Fellowship on the eve of their ride to the Black Gates. AU. Very.

**Part VI – More Letters**

So Aragorn into his tent  
repaired, in truth a tad put out.  
His heart was sore, his patience spent  
They were, in truth, without a doubt  
the most ungrateful and complaining lot;  
about the bigger picture cared they not one jot.  
  
Then he bethought him of the note  
from Arwen, lovely elf, his dear.  
So, sure that what his darling wrote  
would lift his heart, depression clear,  
he reached into his tunic with a hand  
that trembled (but was manly, still, and tanned).

“Elfstone sweet, it’s been a while  
since last we spoke. I surely miss  
the dimple that my thoughts beguile.  
I sigh for your strong and manly kiss.  
I hesitate to mention this, but father  
still is talking up th’Undying Lands, a bother.”

“He keeps haranguing me about  
the drawbacks of your being mortal.  
He thinks that he is raising doubt  
(although behind my hand I chortle,  
thinking of that dimple and your kiss,  
which, though somewhat scratchy, is the height of bliss).”

“But Daddy’s putting on the screws  
to get me on that elven boat  
to leave these shores. This news,  
I know, your heart hath smote;  
but I just thought I’d better let you know  
he’s trying to put his oar in. I’m a little low.”

“So anyway, Estel, he said  
that things don’t look so good out there  
in Gondor. And he’s kind of mad  
(he heard about Haldir. I swear  
I don’t know who it was who told him) anyhow.  
To put it bluntly, Elrond’s having quite a cow.”

“The sooner you can get this thing  
wrapped up, the better, don’t you think?  
He’ll be ok when you’re the king.  
It’s just that now I’m on the brink  
of getting shipped off West. A fond farewell,  
your loving Evenstar, Arwen Undómiel.”

“P.S. Oh, yes, I wrote to Gran,  
but have not yet heard back from her.  
And what is this I hear of “fans”?  
Just what is going on out there?  
I also heard some gossip that your chin  
was being much admired by Lady Éowyn.”

With head sunk in his hands, the tent  
was witness to his sighs. Did none  
his honour trust? His heart was rent.  
Were all his hopes to be undone?  
Just then, outside the tent, a voice did hear.  
“My Lord! A message from the Steward Faramir.”

“What now?!” thought Estel, goaded much.  
“Come in,” he curtly bad the man,  
who handed him the note. “In dutch  
we are unless I somehow can  
defuse this dimple thing.” Then turning to  
the note of Faramir, he found yet more to rue.

“My Lord,” it said, (no “gracious” or  
“respects”) “I write to you, old sport,  
to tell you this, if any more  
you flirt or trifle with… in short,  
if you don’t lay off Lady Éowyn,  
I’ll punch you on your dimpled, manly chin.”

“I know you are the rightful king,  
and Gondor do I gladly cede.  
But I must draw the line. A fling  
with Éowyn you do not need.  
And I’ve been thinking on my brother Boromir.  
Can’t say that I’m convinced your sorrow’s quite sincere.”

“(P.S. This note was written by  
Acacea, the Steward’s scribe,  
because Lord Faramir doth lie  
sore wounded. I cannot describe  
how much the sweet boy suffers. Just ignore  
that part concerning Éowyn. She’s such a bore.)”

 

**Part VII – Aragorn’s Dream**

He flung the note into the corner,  
and then upon his cot did fall.  
So much for those he thought his former  
friends. May Nazgûl take them all!  
Thus did he fall into a fitful, troubled sleep,  
and tossed and turned his way into the darkness deep.

Then, lo! A vision clear, or dream,  
came to him, in darkness shrouded.  
He saw a face, familiar seemed;  
at first not clear, his vision clouded.  
Then, “Boromir!” Lord Estel gladly cried.  
“I’ve thought about you often since you… well, since you died.”

So Aragorn upon the form  
of Boromir did gladly look.  
Those pesky holes that harmed  
him still in evidence, they took  
a bit of getting used to. But still fair  
of face and form, though just a bit the worse for wear.

“My friend!” cried Aragorn, “in truth  
I’m doubly glad to see you now.  
That day at Amon Hen, forsooth,  
we barely had the time to vow  
our fealty, each to each. You did cling  
to life to say with dying breath, “My Captain and my King!”

“Forget it!” said the handsome shade.  
“I take it back! ‘Twas on the brink  
of death; won’t count,” said Gondor’s Blade.  
“I had a lot of time to think  
whilst floating down the River Anduin  
and contemplating all the things that might have been.”

“I’d like to know, at first just where,  
Estel, you were at Amon Hen?  
You were a trifle late, I dare  
to say. I thought you might have been  
a bit more johnny on the spot, and not  
fooling about while I was taking Lurtz’s shots.”

“If you had gotten off your duff,  
I might have been in Towers Two  
in more than flashback on that bluff  
in Moria. But nooooooo.. trust you  
to hog the screen. Then there’s the dimple;  
it doth expain, in part, the reason _you_ still live. It’s simple.”

“Besides, some dimples do I have  
myself.” So spoke the manly Blade,  
as he proceeded to take off  
his sword, his leathers then to doff.  
“No, no!” said Aragorn, in just the nick  
of time. “Alas, we’re not in just that kind of fic.”  
  
“Well, ok, then,” said Boromir,  
”but I’ve been thinking. Here’s the thing.  
Dad was right, it now is clear.  
The realm of Gondor has no king,  
and needs no King; already, my fan-girls fewer  
are than yours (my dimples being hidden from the viewer.)

With that the shade of Boromir  
did soon depart. Lord Aragorn  
was in despair. The ghost sincere  
had brought much doubt, a thorn  
to prick his mind. Mayhap ‘twas true that all  
in ruin lay. Then into sleep again Estel did fall.


	3. Dawn, Outside the Tent of Aragorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy breaks out amongst the Fellowship on the eve of their ride to the Black Gates. AU. Very.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Avon for the inspiration of the Vogon Poetry thread on the Verse and Adversity forum, starting with her own inimitable poem on elven dimples. This, alas, is its spawn. Thanks also to Nic for (inadvertantly, so no blame attaches there) giving me the idea and to Starlight, Tay, Nessime, Nic and Acacea for advice, comments and encouragement. I have used (more like mis-used) Tay's wonderful images the Raven and the Blade, with her kind acquiescence. Of course the idea of jealousy in and around the Fellowship is not new. Two of my favorite examples are Cassandra Claire's "Very Secret Diaries and Harry Knowles Sauron Speaks! on AintItCoolnews.

**Part VIII – Gandalf Weighs in, with Chorus**

Still weary from his restless night,  
Lord Aragorn awoke at dawn.  
Outside his tent the welcome sight  
of Gandalf striding ‘cross the lawn  
toward his tent his grateful eye did meet.  
The rest behind him trailed, looking at their feet.

“Ah, ha!” thought Aragorn, relieved.  
“The noble wizard must have read  
the riot act to them. Reprieved  
am I from jealousy. Instead,  
they’ve come to beg my pardon now, unaminous.  
Well, I’ll forgive them, be noble and magnaminous.”

The wizard Mithrandir approached  
and, leaning heavy on his staff,  
with sorrowed frown the subject broached.  
“The others craved, on their behalf,  
I speak with you about that slight depression  
on your chin (the subject of last night’s bull-session).”

“In much ado, they came to me;  
about the dimple they complained.  
And I must say that I agree,  
once all the angles they explained."  
“But Gandalf!” Aragorn exclaimed, “I counted  
on your getting them for battle up and mounted!”

“Besides,” said Estel, “why the heck  
should you care who the girls adore?  
And why, through all this [expletive deleted] trek  
did you ne’er mention it before?  
In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war  
on here. We don’t have time for nonsense anymore.”

“Nonsense!” huffed the White. “Restraint  
I show by holding back!” And from  
behind came chorus of complaint,  
confuséd shouts that had become  
a swell of words in which the likes of “fan-girl,”  
“dimple,” “sweaty,” “tall,” and “manly” oft were hurled.

Gandalf’s voice again arose,  
strong above the others’ babble.  
“I’m not concerned with fan-girls, those  
are naught. But I admit this rabble…  
um.. Fellowship… got me thinking on a point  
or two that have my nose severely out of joint."

“About that Balrog…” he began.  
Lord Aragorn let out a groan.  
“Now Mithrandir, your own command  
was ‘Fly, you fools! I’d not have flown  
and left you there of my own will. You must  
believe that Boromir and I deserved your trust.”

“I never thought you’d really leave,”  
said Mithrandir, a sigh he gave.  
“Well, be that as it may, I grieve  
to mention an offense more grave.  
I saved your bacon at Helm’s Deep, but who  
got all the good close-ups? Why, dimple-laden you!”

At that the chorus did renew  
their plaints. Disgusted, Aragorn  
discerned within the shouts a few  
that really hurt and darked the morn.  
“Dwarf-tossing.” That was one he heard, then winced  
at “second breakfast.” Sure, no words they minced.

From out the chorus, Gimli’s voice  
did sound, “If Leggy doesn’t go,  
then I’m not either. It’s a choice  
you know I hate to make, Stormcrow….”  
“You trusted not the elf!” said Estel, pleading.  
“Boy,” said Pip, “you’ve got to catch up on your reading.”

“Besides,” said Gandalf, “’round midnight,  
the noble Jewel of Gondor fair  
appeared to me in dream. And right  
he was about the Ring, I dare  
say now. I wronged the noble Boromir  
in life. So tall… so fair…” In wizard’s eye, a tear.

“Alas, the noble Blade is slain.  
So, anyhow, we took a vote  
to go with Sauron. He’s a pain,  
we know, but we did note  
he has no dimple on his chin (no chin, in fact).  
Safe to say the Lidless Eye few fan-girls doth attract.”  


**Part IX – The Deus Ex Machina**

Estel threw Narsil down, the blade,  
the sword reforged, upon the grass.  
“That’s it! I quit! Your point is made.  
You sorry lot can kiss my….”  
Just then approached a litter; in it, carried  
by four men, Faramir (who looked a little harried).

“I thank the Valar, I’m in time!”  
quoth he. “What now?!” yelled Aragorn.  
“Just before the clock did chime  
at four, I heard my brother’s horn,”  
so said the grave and noble Raven. “He came  
to me in vision fair, in tall, though punctured, frame.”

Then Estel swore both loud and long.  
“You all conspire against me, ghost  
and all, e’en Boromir the strong.  
The armies of the West are toast.”  
“Nay, my lord,” said Faramir the just.  
“Listen to the dream, e’er thou do combust.”

“The One had come to Boromir  
and told him that he’d got it wrong.  
Borry’s sorrow was sincere.  
He told me then to come along  
and straighten out the mess he’d made (again)  
and say he’s sorry that he such a putz has been.”

“The One!” Lord Aragorn exclaimed.  
“Then Boromir hath Eru seen!”  
“Not quite,” the Raven did explain.  
“’Twas PJ. He made quite a scene  
and said that Borry had to make it clear  
to all of you to get your asses into gear.”

“He said the deal with One-Eye’s not  
an option. Aragorn’s the King,  
and PJ doesn’t have a lot  
of patience. Forget the dimple thing.”  
So spoke the Raven, pale and wan of face  
(the fact he’d had to leave his bed was a disgrace).

E’er fainting then, his errand done,  
(almost) he said, “If we don’t win,  
no fan-girls, alas, for anyone...”  
Thus he collapsed, the noble Borry’s kin.  
O’er all a pregnant silence it did fall.  
Then cried they, “All for one and one for all!”

Thus Fellowship restoréd was,  
and all in greatest love proceeded  
to fight for great and noble cause.  
The words of Boromir they heeded,  
though he was dead. They would ignore the dimple,  
not wanting to be cut out of the DVD. ‘Twas simple.

_Finis_

*******

Author’s note: Thanks to Avon for the inspiration of the Vogon Poetry thread on the Verse and Adversity forum, starting with her own inimitable poem on elven dimples. This, alas, is its spawn. Thanks also to Nic for (inadvertantly, so no blame attaches there) giving me the idea and to Starlight, Tay, Nessime, Nic and Acacea for advice, comments and encouragement. I have used (more like mis-used) Tay's wonderful images the Raven and the Blade, with her kind acquiescence. Of course the idea of jealousy in and around the Fellowship is not new. Two of my favorite examples are Cassandra Claire's "Very Secret Diaries” and Harry Knowles’ “Sauron Speaks!” on Ain’tItCoolnews.

Apologies to the shade of Thomas Gray, since I have lifted the general metric scheme as well as the first two lines of “Legolas’ Complaint” from his Pindaric ode _The Bard_ and to Dr. Martin, my college English professor, wherever he may be.  



End file.
